


Carry it Alone

by kaeorin



Series: Loki's Lullabies [46]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Loss, Loss of Parent(s), Mother's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:06:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24120289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaeorin/pseuds/kaeorin
Summary: Losing a mother is basically a pre-requisite for being an Avenger. You're hardly alone. But knowing that doesn’t make Mother’s Day any easier.
Relationships: Loki (Marvel)/Reader
Series: Loki's Lullabies [46]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1678240
Comments: 8
Kudos: 125





	Carry it Alone

You weren’t special or anything. Not having a mother was practically a pre-req for joining the Avengers. No one on the team still had their mother, if indeed they ever had. At least you hadn’t lost yours in some dramatic and life-changing way. Or. Well, at least, losing her wasn’t part of your superhero origin story. You’d lost her the way most normal people lost their parents: not through the actions of some horrendous villain in a bid for world domination, but through natural causes. She was sick, and then she got worse, and then she was gone.

It sucked. A lot. Obviously. But when you were feeling particularly low and trying to snap yourself out of it, you caught yourself comparing your situation to your friends’. You’d been able to know her before she was taken from you. You had almost half a lifetime’s worth of memories of her—her laughter, her wisdom, the glint in her eyes when she looked at you. Hell, you’d mostly been able to grow up knowing that she was always there for you, that she’d always love and support you. Until she wasn’t. 

But even then, you’d sat beside her in the hospital and watched her go. She hadn’t been ripped away from you in the dark of night, on some desolate stretch of road. You had been powerless to stop it, of course, but at least you hadn’t had to watch as another human being killed her in front of you and then run off never to be seen again. And you’d been with her. You got to hold her hand in yours as though you could tether her to the Earth. You weren’t frozen in ice or held captive somewhere across the world.

No. When it came to losing your mother, you were definitely one of the lucky ones, so you did your best not to make too much noise about it. The one thing that most of the others in the Tower had over you was the fact that they’d all lost their moms so long ago. This was a kind of pain that didn’t seem like it’d ever go away, of course, but your loss still felt gaping and raw. Sometimes it still grew too large and threatened to swallow you, and you still hadn’t yet learned how to ignore it. So you made a compromise with yourself. You allowed yourself two days a year to duck down and let the grief and loneliness wash over you: her birthday and Christmas. Knowing that you had those two days made it easier to force yourself to ignore the pain during the rest of the year, made it easy to get on with your life. Even in early May.

The world made damn sure you didn’t forget about Mother’s Day. Even for as little as any of you in the Tower managed to sit down to watch television, the commercials still seemed to chase you. Tiny children made a mess of the kitchen so they could bring some beautifully-coiffed actress breakfast in bed. White men with floppy hair bought diamond necklaces, birthstones in the shapes of hearts, jewelry to thank their wives for the agony of birthing their children. Pastel pinks and purples flooded the screen and promised huge sales for Her, constant reminders of the day that was bearing down on you all.

No one else seemed to care. They could talk over the commercials and laugh and go on with their lives without feeling the need to mute the television or throw the remote through the screen. So, on the rare occasion that you let yourself join them, you always swallowed back the anger that surged in you and tried to follow their lead.

The first time Thor saw a Mother’s Day commercial, you were in the room with him. You were pretending to be lost in the book in your lap, but you heard him ask Steve if perhaps there was some kind of national day for...ah...creating mothers. It was hard to keep yourself from laughing out loud at the idea of that, but you managed. Steve, likely bright pink, explained the actual reason for the day and the things that he remembered doing for his mom when he was growing up. It was sweet, but it tugged at something in you that was still too tender.

As time continued on, bringing the stupid day closer and closer, you felt yourself withdrawing a bit. There was nowhere you could go to escape. Your inbox was filled with demands that you bring Mom to any number of restaurants for breakfast, lunch, dinner. That you buy her this or that to show your love. There were even a few simple reminders, followed, of course, by links to online shops with fast shipping in case you had somehow forgotten about this day that came around every year. Even your few social media feeds, which you usually avoided, started to flood with your friends’ plans, or posts about how each of them had the “Best Mom Ever”. You stopped checking your phone.

Maybe you were being oversensitive, but it felt like Loki was getting nastier as the days went on. He’d long since accepted the Tower as...well, at least as a place where he was allowed to be, if not exactly his home. Months ago, he’d finally begun to stop locking himself away for most of the day, and took advantage of the common spaces. It used to make you feel warm inside, make you feel proud, to look up and notice him stretched out in a chair in the living room, or to hear him wandering through the hallways. You liked that he was finally getting comfortable here. Lately, though, some mean little part of you started wishing he’d go back into hiding. If he spoke to you—or anyone—at all, it was usually in that cold, harsh tone that he’d used in the very early days. His responses weren’t quite monosyllabic, but...they were close. He was never really one for long conversations with any of the Avengers, but you were certain that you’d had at least a few decent conversations with him before this Mood overtook him.

As much as he tried to keep everyone at arm’s length, it wasn’t hard to figure out what Loki’s deal was. You weren’t a stranger to the desire to lash out at people around this time of year. You were often the guilty host of that very same thought: you were hurting, so you wanted others to hurt too. You didn’t know much about the princes’ mother, but, on the off-chance that she were still alive, she was still on an entirely different planet. So, even when Loki’s snide remarks set your teeth on edge, made it harder to keep from giving in to your own desire to lash out, you kept yourself under control. He was hurting. You understood.

Then Sunday arrived, and you lingered in bed as long as you could. Every year you considered swapping out Mother’s Day for Christmas. It made sense. They both had several weeks of commercials leading up to the day and reminding you what was coming, but at least Christmas had so many other things that you could throw yourself into to forget. But every year, you held firm. You absolutely hated the idea of being that stereotype on Mother’s Day, the motherless child who was just a weepy mess. But maybe you did let yourself try to hide in your blankets for part of the day.

When you finally gathered the strength to get up and face the day, things were normal. Of course a Tower full of people who’d lost their mothers would spend Mother’s Day doing their best not to think about it. You made yourself coffee, attempted something like a breakfast, and ate it slowly while you read a book. Thor joined you after a while, looking considerably worse for wear, and you stole secret glances at him to try to gauge how he was doing. He hovered for a moment, then sat at the far end of the table. You looked up in earnest. 

“What do people do—” his voice started out rather loud, but he winced and took care to modulate it a little better. “—when they haven’t got mothers anymore?”

This was not actually a conversation you felt ready for, but he looked so sad. You drew in a slow breath, let it out. “Try not to think about it.” You hated how your voice wavered, but Thor didn’t look to be in any mood to give you shit for it. “Or try _to_ think about it. It seems like some of my friends online always post these long reflective pieces about how great their moms were and how much they miss them. Some people bring flowers to their graves, but that’s obviously not possible for everybody.” Your mother was buried in a little cemetery just outside of her home town, hours and hours away from here. It seemed like Thor’s mother was worlds away. You forced yourself to smile at him, but even you could tell that it didn’t reach your eyes. He matched yours with a similarly-sad smile and then dropped his eyes. You wanted to tell him what you knew the others in the Tower did today, but that felt wrong. Their stories were not yours to tell. 

You wandered through the day, feeling a lot like the wailing ghosts in Victorian horror stories. Hardly anyone looked at each other today. The ones who’d had the longest to adjust to their losses, they could almost behave normally, and maybe you were just projecting, but you could always feel some kind of an edge to their personalities. Natasha was especially deadly in the gym today. Tony cranked his music even louder and threw himself even more wildly into his work. You felt like you should do something for Thor and Loki, since their loss seemed even more fresh than your own, but you didn’t have the strength today. You had to hope that they’d understand. 

Loki, it seemed, planned to hide himself away all day. That surprised you a little. This was always when your own desire to make people hurt seemed to grow strongest and, if being nasty was how he was coping, surely he would have wanted more of an audience. You didn’t _want_ him to hurt you, of course—that would have been stupid and ridiculous—but you found that an uncomfortably large part of you was willing to let him snap at you, if it made him feel any better. But when you sought him out, knocking gently on his door, he wasn’t there. Or he wasn’t answering. You tried not to let yourself feel too let-down as you retreated again.

That night, you went out to the roof. The nights were still cold, even though the days were becoming ever more like spring, but you didn’t mind. The chill reminded you that were still breathing. Sometimes you stared at the light-polluted sky and told yourself that you were looking for stars. Maybe if you wished hard enough on just the right meteor, you’d figure out how to be okay with all of this. 

Loki was already out there. You acknowledged him with barely even a nod, not that it mattered, since his back remained towards you. You tried not to groan too loudly as you dropped into the giant old Adirondack chair that Tony had long since put out for you up here. It was hard to be sure exactly how long you sat there in gloomy silence before movement caught your eyes. Loki squared his shoulders like he was bracing for something and then turned to face you. 

“What is the point?” he asked. You had to laugh—something about the way he said it made it seem as though this were the middle of some conversation, rather than the very beginning. Still, you somehow knew what he was talking about. That happened a lot, with Loki. You shrugged.

“Beats me.” People who still had mothers around often made jokes about forgetting that it was today, made jokes about last-minute runs to grocery stores to pick up sad leftover bouquets. Hell, you had made a few of those panicked shopping trips in your day as well. You lifted your gaze to his face: to his heavy brows, his tight lips. Your heart broke for him all over again. “Were you close?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He looked away and rubbed the back of his neck. You knew that feeling, but you could also sense something else in him. Maybe he _did_ want to talk about it, but he needed to be pushed a little? You sat forward and propped your elbows on your knees. But you didn’t speak, only looked at him. Sure enough, when he finally looked back at you, he seemed surprised to meet your eyes so quickly. His brows furrowed a bit, making you worry that maybe he was going to lash out again, but then he growled and sat near you. “She was magic. Actual magic. She taught me as much as she could, and lent me her power until I found my own. I don’t know how she found the patience to bother, but she gave me so much more than she could ever have known.” He looked out at the city as he spoke, as he described her beauty, her spirit, her heart. You could feel yourself falling in love with her as he spoke, which surely was a testament to how dearly Loki himself loved his mother. He revered her. Your eyes began to sting as he spoke, as you listened not only to his words, but also to his pain and his self-loathing. You fought your tears, of course, especially unwilling to ruin this moment by crying over a woman you’d never known. But it was hard. From what you gathered between the lines of his stories, she was his only real tie to Asgard. She was the only person who ever made him feel like anything on his own merit, instead of simply being overshadowed by his brother. He kept circling back to her lessons in magic, sitting knee-to-knee with her as a child, learning to conjure illusions and create magic from nothing, and you could not shake the image of a tiny, hyperactive Loki with his mother, with all her love and patience. 

When he trailed off, he let the silence stretch on a little longer, but then looked over at you. Maybe he thought it was your turn to speak. Maybe he thought you could bring your mother to life for him as he’d done for you. You looked away, incredibly aware of the unshed tears you couldn’t hide, and shook your head. You didn’t have the words he did. His continued silence was insistent. Was he trying to prod you as you’d prodded him? You gave a watery laugh and shook your head again.

“She was just _good_. She didn’t teach me magic, but she taught me everything else.” You picked at an imaginary piece of lint on the thigh of your jeans. You didn’t need to get into the boring Earthly details of how she’d raised you. Something occurred to you then, though, and not only did it feel true, but it felt like it needed to be said. You looked up at him again, and did your best not to blush when you saw that he was still looking at you. “I think she’d like you a lot.”

He laughed—more of a scoff, really—and looked away. “ _Nobody_ —” But then he cut himself off. You could guess what he’d been about to say, and your stomach clenched. God, he was still so lonely. Against your better judgment, you reached out to touch his shoulder. You might have expected him to smack your hand away, but...he didn’t. He drew in a breath. “Mothers don’t like me.”

You squeezed his shoulder, gentle but insistent. It was practically like she was standing there over your shoulder, nudging you forward as she’d done when you were a child trying to hide behind her. “Mine would. I know it.” You sort of wanted to go on, explain all the various things about him that would have made your mom laugh, giggle, look at him with stars in her eyes, but you held back. Maybe that was a little much, for now. 

He brought his hand up to rest on top of yours, and his thumb brushed tenderly against your skin. He didn’t argue with you. 

You imagined the way Frigga might have smiled.


End file.
